


The Rain Never Stops

by Psilent (HereThereBeFic)



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Diary/Journal, Friendship, Gen, Sofas, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:12:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereThereBeFic/pseuds/Psilent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>woke up somewhere called Crowthorne with a complete stranger who reports he saw me stumble out of a bar and followed me out to make sure I was all right, and then proceeded to continue following as I stumbled about five more miles and then laid down to sleep on someone’s stoop. looked it up, Guildford is roughly fifteen “miles” from Crowthorne. Stranger is nice and as hungover as I am.</p><p>have had worse drunken hazes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rain Never Stops

**Personal Notes/Field Journal**

**_!!DO NOT MIX THIS UP WITH GUIDE ENTRY TEXT AGAIN!!_ **

Next assignment is some waterlogged rock. Local name Earth. Have I mentioned I hate water?

Don't appear to have made any official reciprocal contact with the universe, but that doesn't mean much. There's always someone who knows before it's allowed.

Anyway. Been to several no-contact planets, they're all the same as one another and the same as everywhere else, really. Feel like I've been everywhere in the galaxy already.

-

Am somewhere called Guildford. Have spent total of three days on Earth and it has rained for two of them. The metal beasts are incredibly primitive forms of non-sentient transport called "cars." The bipeds are the dominant species, called "humans." I have named myself after a would-be Baby's First Star Cruiser. Bugger.

Oh well. The name's grown on me.

-

Connection with Guide offices not good. whole planet must be a zarking dead zone or something. sure I'll get stuck here for a month just like last time. round 6 of the corporate run-around, yahoo.

-

These people cannot be real. They are too technologically inept to con. I can cheat my name and any other relevant information into any network on 65 different types of computers but most of their records are on _paper_.

PAPER.

-

Took about two weeks (and I am STILL HERE) but my identity is now airtight enough to rent an apartment. Should probably avoid credit cards though. I'd bet a good half century off from figuring out how to properly utilize the GIANT BALL OF ENERGY IN THE SKY but they've got zarking credit cards.

Now just need money. Ran into an out of work actress yesterday. Think I'll use that. Doesn't matter the planet, no one ever wonders why actors are down on their luck or prefer to be paid in cash.

She gave me a script and advised I audition for something called Rockabye Hamlet. Can't hurt.

-

It hurts. Regret. Didn't land a part, thank Zarquon, I'm having enough trouble speaking my own damn "lines" in this utterly forsaken language. They want me to help backstage. I told them I can't afford to be doing anything that doesn't pay and they said something about ten pounds?? Need to look into currency further. blown through all the counterfeit I brought.

Anyway I'm now a professional stagehand.

All well and good but the show is three weeks away. Need money in the meantime assuming I'm here that long at all. Found a very nice and pitying old woman who said if I come round at noon she'll let me do odd jobs.

The rain never stops, just slinks back and forth between a steady downpour and some sort of hellish freezing drizzle, and I still have no place to sleep.

-

Ten pounds apparently equals roughly peanuts. Bugger.

-

Actor in the play has let me crash on his sofa until I find my feet. Very nice man. Think his name's Lionel. Actress I met before also got a part. Theresa? Celebrations all around.

Humans are at least reasonably good at making sofas that are more comfortable than wet grass.

-

Mrs. Little's odd jobs so far have proven disappointingly mundane. Must admit had been hoping for clumsily veiled offer for assassin work or some such. Spent most of today cleaning gutters and uprooting weeds. Oh well.

Note to self: Still hate heights!

-

Social notes: the more I go out the more I realize everyone seems to use one of two sets of gendered pronouns and most of them in either category share a list of physical features. could be bad sign, head to library later.

humans have proved more susceptible to telepsychic suggestion than had previously occurred to me. utilized this to gain vital supplies including and limited to: alcohol and cash. will continue to investigate this point as opportunities arise. very important research area.

-

w ent to libr ary. BELGIUM.

-

no, really, what the zarking photon am I supposed to do with this?? FUCK.

-

notes: be careful about clothes. be careful about sex.

-

have acquired a licence and a job as taxi driver. cars are not so hard to figure out once you get past the fact that nearly everything must be done manually.

-

THERE IS A COUNTRY CALLED BELGIUM ON THIS PLANET. IN SOME OF THEIR OWN LANGUAGES.

-

average human life span unfortunately low. signs of aging occur rapidly. will have to move around a bit if I'm here too long. It's been nearly two months now. still no word. have attempted to send entry drafts and pickup requests several times. five of them pulled that trick where they say they've sent but you can tell they haven't, the rest outright failed.

-

Mrs. Little is moving to live with grandchildren. couldn't bring myself to suggest anything out of her. she gave me a little wallet full of money and said she'd miss me.

need to get out of here soon.

-

woke up somewhere called Crowthorne with a complete stranger who reports he saw me stumble out of a bar and followed me out to make sure I was all right, and then proceeded to continue following as I stumbled about five more miles and then laid down to sleep on someone's stoop. looked it up, Guildford is roughly fifteen "miles" from Crowthorne. Stranger is nice and as hungover as I am.

have had worse drunken hazes.

-

Stranger's name is Miguel and he knows someone here looking for renters. woke up again on unpleasantly lumpy sofa in what is apparently my flat. I have more money than I remember having the last time I remember being in Guildford.

got to get a handle on telepsychically communicating while intoxicated. luck can't possibly hold.

-

back to taxi driving. have learned several disturbing secrets from chatty strangers.

-

keep looking at this and not writing anything. suppose it doesn't matter.

-

have been occupying time by attempting to get a better handle on this "English." completely nonsensical rules which are constantly broken. thank Zarquon for babelfish but I still have to speak. in retrospect I don't know what language I was using with Miguel at first. whoops.

-

Six months. They're not coming for me.

-

Ran taxi into fire hydrant. Forgot myself for a second and waited for an automatic turn. Got myself out of jail and fines but couldn't keep the job. Didn't try all that hard.

-

There's an infinite number of planets out there and I'm stuck on this clump of wet dirt. Keep reading Guide entries on places I haven't been. There are a lot.

-

landed job as waiter at rich person restaurant. the wealthy of Earth, as everywhere else, tip abysmally when left to their own devices. have not given them that courtesy since first hour of first day. not for myself or anyone else on staff.

except Jeff. to hell with Jeff.

-

televisions relatively easy to operate. occasionally forget lack of motion controls and end up waving my arms around and swearing, but the exercise probably does me good.

bought a VHS VCR (Video Home System Video Cassette Recorder--bless them, they do _try_ ) and rented a few movies. got halfway through a mildly interesting one called Casablanca before the power cut. am now huddled under blanket writing this useless thing up for my own amusement. it's cold in here and sounds very windy outside. suspect a tree has blown over onto one of their adorable "power lines."

dangerously close to writing something about how as long as I'm under this blanket I could be anywhere in the universe. quite enough of that.

-

encountered first telepsychic suggestion-resistant human today and, in the face of this all-important scientific discovery, got very expensive ice water poured all down my shirt. have not been fired.

-

been invited out to some sort of party for a couple of Miguel's friends' anniversary tomorrow night. fully intend to lose consciousness.

-

i     w ant to ggo,h ome

-

have replaced lumpy sofa with much nicer one that turned out, after a few days of use, to secretly also be lumpy.

-

Miguel is off to some place called Canada for work. Never did ask him what he does.

I've heard Australia's dangerous.

-

AUSTRALIA VERY DANGEROUS, VERY FUN, HIGHLY RECOMMEND

-

**\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --**

**\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --**

****\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --** **

**\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --**

****\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --** **

**\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --**

**\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --**

****\-- Open Entry? Y - _N_ \- --** **

_**\-- -- REPLY ALL PROMPT "Open Entry?": -N- -- --** _

Tried to read over older entries in this and physically winced at the maudlinism of it all.

That said, can't even bring myself to put down how many years it's been.

Zarquon. Years.

Intercontinental travel is intoxicating in all the best and most dangerous ways. Decided to return to England and save the next trip as a pick me up when I need it. Feels good to have a sort of home base. Feels better to know I can leave it, even if all I can cross is land and water.

Note to self: Still fucking hate water.

-

Met a man in a bar. Already forgot his name. Don't know why I'm putting this down.

-

Man in bar is called Arthur Dent and he thought I was trying to pull a joke when I told him my name.

Asked him if he's aware that his surname is something that can be done to a wall with a metal bat and he lapsed into quiet embarrassment for the rest of the evening.

-

Driving taxis again. Favorite and least favorite job. I know where three bodies are buried.

-

Three bodies, a manuscript, a tin box of photographs, a golden umbrella tip, and a finger.

-

Apparently I rate an invitation to Arthur Dent's birthday party. Less actual party and more a few more people than usual gathered around him in the pub, and I would have been in the pub anyway, but still. Nice to be willingly included.

-

Get on well enough with Arthur. He works in local radio, and I've done enough auditioning that I'm only really half pretending to be an out of work actor, so there's something almost in common, at least.

Arthur is neither particularly old nor particularly career-driven. Very likely will not run off to live with children or grandchildren or make lots of money in North America and send increasingly awkward and stilted Christmas cards that somehow always get to me.

Note to self: write Miguel back.

-

woke up on Arthur's sofa. excellent model. very soft, will likely not leave imprint on side of face.

am still on sofa. debating on wisdom of continuing the "waking" portion of things.

-

I hate looking at the stars. They still look wrong from here.


End file.
